


A Strand of Unicorn Hair

by caleco



Series: Sansan One-Shots [5]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, Alternate Universe - Magic, Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Alternate Universe - Wizards, F/M, Light-Hearted, Magic, Students, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-17
Updated: 2020-08-19
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:07:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25946353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/caleco/pseuds/caleco
Summary: When first-year Sansa Stark joins her brother and two best friends on a hunt for a strand of unicorn hair, she ends up with much more than she bargained for, uncovering a deadly secret held by a fellow classmate.Now in her seventh-year at Hogwarts, Sansa is trying to protect another deadly secret, this time one of her best friend’s heritage.The only issue is that it keeps leading her right back into the arms of the dangerous boy from her first-year.
Relationships: Arya Stark/Gendry Waters, Jon Snow/Ygritte, Robb Stark/Margaery Tyrell, Sandor Clegane/Sansa Stark, Talisa Maegyr/Robb Stark, Tormund Giantsbane/Jon Snow
Series: Sansan One-Shots [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1697629
Comments: 19
Kudos: 74





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> As I’ve been writing Blueberry Muffins, I’ve been listening to soundtracks, especially the Harry Potter ones! I love the light-hearted melodies in there, and it inspired me to write a HP AU, in a much more light-hearted tone than Blueberry Muffins.
> 
> Just a quick note: I put Sansa/Sandor, but that’s very much a future/‘if I decide to write more and include a hefty time jump’ thing. Sansa is 12 here and Sandor 17/18, so it’s very not okay. There’s no romance here, just a meeting!
> 
> But if I continued..... let’s just say, I love Tonks and Lupin’s relationship :)
> 
> Anyways, thank you guys for reading!! I love all the reviews, as well! I love to hear what you guys think and also what you’d like to see me work on.

It all started with a unicorn.

Well, a  _ quest  _ for a unicorn. More specifically, unicorn hair. One single glimmering, shiny piece of hair that would captivate all who beheld it. 

Or in this case, Margaery Tyrell.

“She’ll love it.” Robb insisted, sticking his finger into the side of the map, right over the painted images of thick trees and monstrous creatures. 

“And if she doesn’t?” Jon had asked, blinking down at the roaring arachnid on the map.

Jon was still in first-year, just having recently turned twelve years old. Sansa, in the same year as him,  _ knew  _ he hated spiders. There were many summers back at the Winterfell mansion where Robb and Theon had chased him around, spider legs dangling from their fingertips. 

It was barbaric, and Sansa had let them know as much.

“She will. And even if she  _ doesn’t,  _ she’ll still know I put in so much effort to get it, and she’ll fall in love with me still.” Robb insisted, a pout on his face. “She’s not like other girls, she  _ gets  _ me.”

“I don’t know Robb….” Sansa finally spoke up, her feet anxiously swinging back and forth as she perched on one of the chairs in the common room. The room was toasty, even more than normal for Gryffindor, and she felt uneasy.

Robb crinkled the map slightly, letting the light hit another painting on the map of the Forbidden Forest- this time, it was a ferocious, howling werewolf.

“We could get expelled.” Sansa said, her eyes still caught on the picture. “Or die.”

“Don’t tell me you’re chickening out, Sans,” Theon scoffed from beside Robb, his sandy-brown hair falling into his eyes. Last time they’d visited home, during fall break, her mother had chased him around the grounds with a pair of scissors, screaming about his hair. She’d been unsuccessful.

“I’m not.” Sansa said, her face turning bright red. She glanced over at Jon, who was still frowning at the spider; luckily, he hadn’t been listening. 

She couldn’t let Jon see her scared- he was her best friend, here in Gryffindor, and she couldn’t let him think she was uncool now. Or even worse- a Gryffindor  _ coward. _

“Good. Because we need a woman’s touch.” Robb said sternly.

“A little girl’s.” Theon corrected him, making Sansa cross her arms over her chest, frowning at him all the while.

“The unicorn won’t care. They just like girls better for some reason.” Robb scoffed, folding his map carefully.

“I wonder why.” Sansa whispered to herself as Robb and Theon began to hastily throw their heavy robes over their shoulders, the latter getting his mop of hair caught on the edge of his robe.

Jon laughed quietly beside her, the unease slowly lifting from his face, too.

“It’ll be okay, Sansa.” He whispered, giving a small, encouraging smile to her.

\---------------

The full moon reflected off the snow in an almost blindingly bright manner, making Sansa squint against the glare of it all. Her boots were soaked through now, the shivering already taking a hold of her.

“We’re almost there,” Robb said over his shoulder, quieter than they’d spoken when sneaking from the castle. The snow had made everything almost deafeningly silent, but the forest had its own sort of quiet reverence about it, too- the closer they got, the larger the treeline looked, and the faster Sansa’s heartbeat ran.

“Will there be werewolves?” Sansa hissed to Robb, her shoulder bumping into his lanky form.

“Of course not,” He scoffed back, rolling his eyes at her. At fourteen years old, in the first half of his third-year, Robb acted as if he knew everything there was to know. And Sansa, two years younger, believed he did, too.

“Oh,” She said quietly, pulling her winter cloaks closer around her body. She’d left the Gryffindor orange-and-red tie back at the room, trying to cover herself only with black robes and coats. She felt like a sneaky thief, like the ones that appeared in the stories she always gobbled up.

Part of it thrilled Sansa- she was used to being left behind as Theon and Robb went about their antics, and  _ if  _ they chose to include another Stark, it was usually Arya. But she was just turning ten, and still too young to start her education. Sansa would be lying if she didn’t say it made her feel a little smug.

Part of it also terrified her, of course.

“I bet we won’t see any spiders, either.” Sansa said, a little louder; she peeked at Jon from the corner of her eye and saw his dark, curly head perk up, suddenly a little more at ease.

“If we do, we’re feeding you to them.” Theon said with a wiggle of his eyebrows as he took the first step into the forest, the crunch of leaves loud underneath his feet.

As Sansa stepped one tentative foot in, she froze, expecting the headmaster to pop out at any moment, shooting spells at her to stop. But instead, there was nothing, save for the footsteps of the boys around her.

She let out a shaky breath, watching it float away in front of her, taken away by the freezing winter night. But then she took another step, and another, and soon they were walking in the quiet forest, trying to ignore the eerie feeling of being watched.

Sansa shot glances over her shoulder, watching the field from where they’d entered, but soon it was no longer visible. The full moon barely broke through the thick treetops, and it forced Robb and Theon to whisper a quiet  _ lumos  _ to their wands.

“I think there’s a lake over here,” Robb whispered, tapping the bright end of his wand against the bottom-left corner of the map. Sansa then noticed the tarnished edges of the map, wilted and ripped, and when she leaned in closer, she saw a familiar stamp in the corner of the parchment.

“Did you steal that from the library?” Sansa hissed, appalled at her brother.

“ _ No.”  _ Robb shot back, his face clearly showing that he regretted bringing his little sister along. “Theon stole it.”

“We’re gonna get expelled.” Sansa muttered, clenching her fists at her sides. She could only  _ imagine  _ what her mother would say- she’d never been one to adventure, not like her siblings, and her mother had always taken pride in the perfect little lady she’d raised.

Now she was tramping about the Forbidden Forest, on the search for a rare, dangerous creature. One that could  _ easily  _ kill her, she was sure.

Sansa kept her mouth shut for the next while, silently fuming. Jon had patted her shoulder, in the awkward way that he always did, but it did little to stop her from staring daggers into Robb and Theon’s backs. They were leading the way, all confident bravado, just like always.

“It’s only five more minutes or so, I think.” Robb said, his voice haunty as he shot his words over his shoulders. It was clearly a stab at Sansa’s previous doubts, the clear  _ I told you so. _

Before Robb could take another step, there was a loud  _ roar  _ through the forest.

It was an odd mangling of a screech and a bellow, shockingly loud in the quiet forest. It shook a few of the trees, and it was then that Sansa realized she was shaking, too.

Theon broke out into a sprint, going back the way they’d come; in the darkness, all Sansa could follow was the slight bob of his bright-tipped wand as he ran. Robb was tearing after him, giving a quick pointed glance in Jon and Sansa’s direction.

Sansa started running on wobbly legs, Jon’s mitten-covered hand grasped tightly in her own. She could hear the scream still loudly in her mind- deep, angry, and threatening.  _ There may not be any left of me for mother to get angry with. _

There was another roar this time, closer to them; Jon let out a noise beside her, a choked, strangled cry from his own chest. Sansa could feel hot, frightened tears on her cheeks, but she willed her legs to keep running.

Jon stretched out, accidentally taking a step away from her, and then their interlocked hands hit a tree in front of them, sheltered in darkness. Sansa let out a gasp as they both tumbled forward, facefirst into the brambles of branches and snow.

Sansa heard branches cracking behind them, and she scrambled onto her back, pushing bunches of her red hair out of her face, trying desperately to squint at the darkness around them.

Jon had gotten ahold of his wand, and whispered quietly  _ lumos. _

__ His tone was shaky, his words unclear. Nothing happened.

He hissed it again, and the wand finally sputtered to life, a shaky, uneven flame by a newly-trained wizard.

They’d fallen at the edge of a clearing, and at the other side, Sansa could faintly make out the form- tall, long, spindly and ferocious, its chest massive and hairy. Its snout was loug and housed sharp, dangerous teeth, ones that glinted as it sniffed the air. Jon quickly extinguished his light, shoving his wand between his coats. 

Sansa could hear his short, labored breaths beside her, mirroring her own. 

“Sansa! Jon!” Robb shouted from further in the forest, and they both heard the footsteps of the creature start to fall, towards the direction of her brother’s yells- towards the edge of the clearing, towards them.

Jon whispered another  _ lumos,  _ before Sansa could stop him, and this time, the creature was looking directly at the light, just a few yards from them. He wasn’t drawn quite like the painting on Robb’s stolen map- no, he was larger, and half his face was a mangled, burnt mess. 

Something went off in Sansa’ brain, an odd sort of feeling that she  _ knew  _ those burns, but it was quickly pushed away by horror.

The werewolf snarled, lunging towards them; but his feet were slowed by the snow, and he moved awkwardly, as if he were a newly birthed calf, unsure of his body. 

It gave Sansa enough time to fling open her robes, feeling for the rosy wood of her wand; and then, she shouted the first thing that came to mind, something that she’d seen her boyfriend attempt on many occasions- she gasped a clear, strong,  _ stupefy. _

__ The bolt of light shocked herself almost as much as it did the werewolf; Joffrey had tried to learn the charm dozens upon dozens of times, intent on trying it on his enemies, but he’d never succeeded. She’d never attempted it herself, thinking it rather barbaric.

It did not incapacitate the werewolf completely, though; his body lay in the snow, but Sansa saw it twitch, regaining the use of its long, spindly limbs once again. 

“ _ Run,”  _ Sansa hissed to Jon, pulling him from the snow. He rose on shaky but quick legs, following her as she darted through the forest. After a moment, she heard another ferocious roar, but the edge of the forest was in sight- she saw Robb and Theon’s forms, saw the blanket of white, shining snow, and she willed her feet to run even harder.

There was another roar, frightening close, but Sansa and Jon dove for the edge of the forest.

Sansa thought she felt wind at her heel, as if someone had swiped for her, but when she crawled back into the field, into the white snow, she saw nothing in the darkness behind her.

“They cannot breach the forest edges.” A voice said from behind her, one that was decidedly not Robb or Jon.

The headmaster stood behind them, smiling that same all-knowing, clever grin he always wore. For his dwarf-ish stature, he was a surprisingly large, commanding force, and it made Sansa dropped her head into her hands.

“We’re going to be expelled for sure this time.” She moaned to Jon, still crumpled beside her, trying to catch his breath.

\----------------

In the infirmary, the morning sun was just starting to peak over the mountains, dusting over the tall glass windows. It made Sansa feel even more tired- she had to have Astronomy in only two or three hours.

“You’re lucky you’re alive,” Miss Mordane, the healing witch, muttered as she patted a cloth to Sansa’s dirty face. When she had stumbled in front of the wolf, she’d sustained a few nasty scratches that didn’t start stinging until she was back in the castle. She hoped Joffrey wouldn’t sneer at her, like the time she’d woken with a tiny zit on her cheek.

“Are you going to tell my mother?” Sansa asked quietly, trying to do her best puppy-dog impression. Miss Mordane had helped her mother through a few pregnancies, and had lived at Winterfell on more than one occasion; to say she knew Catelyn Stark was putting it lightly.

“I  _ should.”  _ The lady threatened, her voice stern. She then sighed, letting her shoulders drop. “But I won’t. I know you must be terrified still.”

Sansa remembered the sharp teeth of the wolf, probably as long as her fingers, and she shuddered.

“Miss Mordane,” The headmaster’s voice rang around the infirmary, making Sansa whip her head towards the entrance. The lady nodded, busying herself with something in the second room. Sansa gulped, watching the short man take his careful steps to her chair.

Headmaster Tyrion was an odd man. He was from the Lannister house, one of the most prominent families in the wizarding world, just as prominent as the Stark line. But he’d always seemed to distance himself from that title- Sansa had never seen him sport the familiar Lannister lion sigil, and he told each and every student to call him by his first name, not his last. 

Joffrey had said a few mean words about him, ones that always made Sansa frown. He seemed like a kind man.

But as he approached her bed, his smile suddenly seemed a little  _ scary. _

“Hello, Headmaster.” Sansa said, trying to give her best friendly smile; it made the little cuts on her face sting.

“Hello, Miss Stark.” He said kindly, taking a seat on the chair next to her; his feet dangled a few inches off the floor, and Sansa made a point not to stare.

“Am I being expelled?” She asked quickly, the words tumbling from her mouth. 

To her surprise, the headmaster only laughed, a hearty chuckle.

“Oh no, Miss Stark. That would be a disservice to the school, now, wouldn’t it?”

Sansa scrunched her nose at his words, unsure of what he meant.

“I’ve heard that you casted quite the spell out there.” The headmaster continued, a twinkle in his wise eyes. 

“Am I in trouble for that?” Sansa whispered, feeling fear grip her again- it wasn’t an illegal spell, but it certainly wasn’t a friendly one.  _ Especially  _ for a first-year to be casting about.

“Of course not.” He said, shaking his head. “I am a bit curious, though, at where you picked up such a spell.”

“Joffrey taught me.” Sansa said quickly, rubbing her hands together. “I mean- he didn’t  _ teach  _ me, really, and I don’t think he expected me to catch on to it. But he had been trying to learn, and it was the first thing I could remember in front of….”

“The werewolf?” The headmaster finished, his eyes suddenly a little more grave. “Yes, that is understandable. I suppose it should not be a surprise that my nephew is interested in learning such spells at a young age, either.”

Sansa nodded.

“There is one thing I must ask of you, Miss Stark.” The headmaster said, leaning forward to give her a pointed look that had her sitting up straighter. His mouth was no longer smiling, instead replaced by a thin line.

“Of course. I’ll do anything you ask, headmaster.” Sansa said quickly, nodding her head furiously. Anything to get her out of trouble, and- hopefully- keep her mother and father from catching wind of it.

“Do not tell anyone of the werewolf you saw.” He said sternly. “I think you may have already known, given the company you keep, but the werewolf is under my protection here.”

Sansa nodded, even as her brow furrowed a bit, not understanding his words. Why would he  _ protect  _ a werewolf here, so close to the students? Surely that was against many of the wizarding world laws, and brought with it many issues and problems in itself.  _ A professor? A worker? A student? _

“Please keep the identity of the wolf to yourself, as well. I have already talked to your brother and your two friends, but I believe they could not discern the wolf’s identity.” The headmaster said, giving a tight-lipped smile.

“Of course.” Sansa said, even though she still had her brow furrowed- she had no clue who the werewolf could be. Surely, if there was a werewolf somewhere in her company, she would know by now.

The headmaster gave her a few more words and a small chiding to be at her first class of the day on-time, and then he left her to wander back to her dormitory.

\------------

At breakfast, the entire Gryffindor table was abuzz.

“I bet it was a manticore!” One student whispered as Sansa passed, just catching onto his words.

“Nonsense- it had to have been a centaur.” A snobby girl shot back, scoffing at her friend. “I’ve heard there’s herds of them in the forest.”

Sansa walked a little faster, expecting eyes to be following her- but to her surprise, the table was transfixed on Robb, Theon, and Jon.

“Did you  _ really  _ slay a dragon?” Margaery Tyrell fawned, leaning from her seat at the Hufflepuff table to gawk at Sansa’s older brother. Robb, of course, soaked up the attention, grinning ear to ear.

“Of course I did. I couldn’t imagine letting it live so close to the castle, so close to all my friends.” Robb said, his voice a false bravado. He had a meager scratch on his cheek, but he made a point to face it towards Margaery.

“I helped too!” Theon scoffed, pushing into Robb with one shoulder, his hand holding up a large fork-full of breakfast. 

Sansa slid in next to Jon, who was grinning as well. 

“Please don’t tell me you’re going along with this too.” She whispered, but Jon just shrugged, taking a big gulp from his goblet.

“Don’t worry. Robb told everyone it was just us.” Jon said quietly, and Sansa felt her shoulders drop a little.

_ Good.  _ So when the news finally got back to mother and father- as it most certainly would, with the way the three boys seemed to be milking it- Sansa would be free from the sure groundings and scoldings. 

And she just  _ knew  _ that Joffrey would’ve turned his nose up at her for adventuring with them, as well, calling her a tomboy, and so she figured that was another bullet dodged, as well.

Sansa looked up then, across the room to the familiar spot at the middle of the Slytherin table; to her surprise, Joffrey was looking right back at them, his mouth snarling, surely unhappy with the attention Robb and Theon were receiving.

Even as a first-year, Joffrey had an odd sort of power in his house, and he expected that same reverence wherever he went. If Sansa was being honest, he  _ could  _ be a bit demanding and rude at times, but other times, he would give her pretty gold lockets and say her hair looked beautiful, and it seemed alright. Sometimes there was a trade-off, she assured herself.

Someone shifted across from Joffrey, and Sansa found herself looking directly into the eyes of Sandor Clegane.

He had an unhappy face, a snarl always on his mouth. He was huge and muscled, a seventh-year about to graduate, and Sansa had steered as far as possible from him. Joffrey had given him the nickname of the Hound, due to the way he seemed to protect him, always guarding his every step.

The Lannisters were a much more uptight, strict family than the Starks; maybe bodyguards weren’t as odd and unnatural to them. Sansa had never bothered to ask directly.

If it weren’t for his scars, he may have been handsome, in a brooding, knightly sort of way- sort of like the stories Sansa had read as a child. That thought made her blush. 

But looking back over his face, she fixated on his scars, and something inside her clicked, making her freeze. 

It was the same scars of the werewolf last night.

Suddenly, the headmaster’s words made much more sense, because she  _ had  _ found the identity of the werewolf, now. She gulped, breaking the Hound’s glare by staring down into the empty plate in front of her.

“You need to eat, Sans.” Jon said pointedly, pushing a pastry onto her plate. The sight made her stomach turn, and she mumbled out a quick excuse, pushing back from the table.

The hall was still chattering about the previous night’s escapades, still too caught up in that to notice Sansa making a beeline for the hallway.

Once she reached a side corridor, she leaned against the cold stone, her chest heaving.  _ Would he kill her for knowing? _

_ Oh gods,  _ she thought, her breath stopping in her chest.  _ I cast a spell on him. _

She was dead for sure now- she couldn’t imagine someone like the Hound liking that a first-year girl had not only found out his secret, but also stupefied him on the first try.

“Girl,” Came a rough voice, making Sansa press harder against the hallway.

“I’m sorry!” Sansa cried out, feeling hot tears threatening to push over. He was huge, so much larger in person; his eyes were a rough grey, and they looked down at her angrily.

“You tell a  _ fucking soul-”  _ He started, taking a step so close to her that she was forced to flatten herself even further, just to get away from him. He looked down at her, so close that the long ends of his inky hair almost brushed the top of hers.

“I won’t,” Sansa rushed out. “I promised headmaster- I would  _ never.” _

“If you do.” He continued, his voice low. “I will rip you apart and feed you to the spiders out there.”

His threat was almost a bit  _ weaker  _ than she’d expected- as if he’d lost the fire when she’d repeated her promise, when she’d assured him. Almost like he believed her.

But his stance faltered a little, and she noticed his fist shaking on the stone wall beside her. He was exhausted, by the looks of it- Sansa didn’t know much about werewolves, but she knew that it was an incredibly taxing process. He looked ready to collapse at any moment.

“You should go to the infirmary.” Sansa whispered, watching the boy’s eyes droop slightly.

“Fuck off.” He said sharply, turning away from her.

Sansa frowned, his words making her upset- there were certainly no words like  _ that  _ allowed in the Stark household.

“I’m sorry I stupefied you.” She said quietly, even as the apology felt unwarranted.

The boy didn’t respond as he turned the corner, his legs a bit shaky. She heard one scrape the floor as he turned, as if it were difficult to pick it up anymore. 

He wasn’t going back towards the Great Hall, she realized. He was going in the opposite direction- towards the infirmary.

“You did the right thing,” He grumbled, so quiet, it was almost to himself, not to her.

  
  
  



	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I’ve only thought about this story a million more times. I’m really bad at doing one-shots and keeping them one-shots, aren’t I?  
>  I’ve decided to continue this story, and take bits from HP, bits from GoT. If you don’t like the way I’m taking and stealing from each plotline, I’m sorry! I really want this story to focus more on SanSan, with what should be the main plot just setting the scene. Hopefully that makes sense!  
>  As I’m blending the stories a bit, the Minister for Magic position, the head of the Ministry of Magic, will be similar to the Iron Throne. Instead of an elected position, it will be more of a dynasty seat.   
>  This chapter, and the next, will be ‘setting the stage’- I plan to focus on Sansa and Jon in their seventh year. The next two chapters will be going over the years up until their seventh year.  
>  The previous chapter took place during Sansa and Jon’s first year at Hogwarts, but the future chapters will have all characters at the following ages:  
>  Gryffindor: Sansa (18), Jon (18), Arya (16)  
>  Hufflepuff: Podrick (18), Gendry (17), Meera (15), Jojen (15)  
>  Slytherin: Joffrey (18),  
>  Ravenclaw: Ramsay (18), Bran (15), Sam (18)  
>  Some past houses/ages of those already graduated but mentioned in the previous chapter:  
>  Gryffindor: Robb (20), Theon (20)  
>  Hufflepuff: Margaery (20)  
>  Slytherin: Sandor (24), Trant (25)  
>  Now that I’ve shared that information, I’d prefer to show the rest of it, not tell it :)  
>  As always, thank you for reading!

  
  
  


It was at the end of their first year, right into the first week of summer break, that Jon came to live with them for good.

Sansa and Robb were all pressed against the door of Robb’s room, where his mother had told them to stay. They’d been playing, testing out another magical toy that Theon had bought from the little shop in town, and then Catelyn Stark had come in.

“Shut this door, and do not open it until I tell you to.” She’d said the words sternly, with the same motherly tone that she’d always commandeered; but her voice shook slightly, and her eyes looked watery. Sansa had never seen her mother look that way.

“What do you think it is?” Sansa whispered, pressing her ear firmly to the door.

“ _ Move,”  _ Robb hissed, scooting his sister out of the way so he could hear better- but he soon shook his head, his brow furrowed. “I can’t hear anything.”

The door then opened quickly, smacking Robb in the face.

“I’ve told you too many times before  _ not  _ to listen into conversations you are not a part of.” Their mother said, looking down her nose at them. Her eyes had been an eerie shade of blue, highlighted by her tear-stained face.

They were too taken aback to complain.

“Come on, now.” She beckoned, urging them to come after her. When Sansa walked past, her mother squeezed her shoulder, looked down at her with those same sad eyes.

“What?” Sansa whispered, as Robb walked a few steps ahead. Her mother just shook her head.

“You’ll need to be there for him, Sansa.” Was all she said.

She knew then that it was about Jon, and that icky feeling had taken over her whole body, making her feel as if she were walking through molasses.

Jon’s mother had died, they later found out. 

Sansa had only met Lyanna once, because she was not a good mother. Or so Robb always said, and Robb was older than her, so he must have been right.

She always smelled like the wine that Sansa’s parents would drink on occasion, and Jon oftentimes spent whole weeks staying with the Starks. Jon didn’t know his father, and neither did Sansa, so it made sense that he’d come to them.

He cried the first few weeks, almost every night. Sansa didn’t know how to help him, so she left him little candies she’d sneak from the kitchen, little magical toys that Theon and Robb had grown tired of. It didn’t do much, but she understood. Just the thought of ever losing  _ her  _ mother made her want to cry.

Sansa heard her father crying a few times, a noise that unsettled her greatly; she’d been sneaking past his study to the kitchen, hoping to grab an extra lemon cake from dinner that evening, and she’d heard him. They were quiet little sobs, ones that felt secret. She’d forgotten about the lemon cakes.

By the time Jon began coming out of his room more, began playing with them in the yard, began letting Robb and Theon knock him off his broomstick again, it was already nearing September. 

\----------------

The second year at Hogwarts was an odd one, indeed.

Robert Baratheon, the current reigning Minister for Magic, had fallen ill and died quite suddenly.

Lady, Sansa’s tawny little owl, had flown into her dormitory early one morning, a flimsy paper between her talons.

It was from her mother, who seemed to be the bearer of all bad news; her father, one of the best aurors at the Ministry, had been gone to work for nearly a week now. She’d scrawled a hastily-written note to Sansa, warning her to be wary of Joffrey Baratheon.

Sansa had wrinkled her brow at that. He was her boyfriend, after all- shouldn’t she be there for him? Wasn’t that what girlfriends did?

Robb had said their relationship was silly and unreal, but Sansa  _ knew  _ they were in love. She’d even visited the Lannister mansion over the summer break and spent a wonderful few days there, in awe of the luxury it presented. She couldn’t wait to someday live there with Joffrey.

But her mother’s note was clear. It made Sansa worry, especially with her father at the Ministry for so long. 

Jon had a similar note, she found out later. They’d huddled after dinner that evening, tucked into a warm corner of the Gryffindor common room. 

“It’s from your father,” He’d said, his voice hushed. “Why would he send this to  _ me? _ ”

Sansa wasn’t quite sure the answer to that, either- not with Robb here at Hogwarts, as well.

Her father’s note to Jon was quite simple; he offered a short, brief greeting, and went straight into a warning:  _ It’s no longer safe. Trust Each Other. _

__ “Maybe he had meant it for Robb,” Sansa whispered back, watching the furrow in Jon’s brow, highlighted by the flickering of the common room fire. 

“Ghost wouldn’t mix that up.” Jon said firmly. 

To Sansa’s surprise, Joffrey missed almost a month of school after news had gone out about the minister. When he finally came back, he possessed an almost blinding swagger to him, a snarky grin on his golden features. 

“ _ Cersei Lannister?”  _ Robb had spat, almost knocking over his stack of scrolls.

Sansa had met Joffrey’s mother on a few occasions; she was a beautiful woman, all graceful and full of kind, lovely words. She was everything Sansa wanted to be.

But she didn’t see her often, even while at the Lannister mansion. Often, Joffrey’s real mother seemed to be his nanny. Sansa had found that odd, but thought it would be rude to comment.

Perhaps she would be a better Minister for Magic than a mother.

When Sansa had gone to offer her condolences to Joffrey, as he hadn’t answered any of her owls over the month of his disappearance, he’d given her a short, cruel laugh.

“I no longer have to deal with  _ you  _ anymore, Stark,” Joffrey sneered, looking down his nose at her. Or more precisely,  _ up  _ at her, as she’d grown tall over the summer, and he had not. “I only entertained you because my  _ fool  _ of a father said I had to.”

By his side were two other sneering Slytherins, one being Meryn Trant, and the other a newcomer she’d never quite met. The Hound had off and graduated, and she wasn’t sure whether to be grateful or saddened that he hadn’t seen her react to this news.

She’d cried. Her face had been aflame, her heart broken, and her pride all but shattered.

Jon had put a hex on him then, a funny thing that had made him sick, throwing up slugs, but it had only helped a little. 

It was still funny, though.

\-------------------

Third year brought its own challenges, mainly in the form of a new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher.

It was the first year the position had been filled by someone  _ actually  _ qualified- the previous years had gone by with dismal results, most teachers being wholly unprepared for the course. Petyr Baelish, however, seemed more than prepared- he was a distinguished auror, sent over by Minister Cersei Lannister herself.

He was also  _ very  _ adept at making Sansa uncomfortable.

She was just turning fourteen, and it was then that she realized boys were something different. No longer did Jon’s touch make her immediately think of germs and cooties, but instead it became something that made her reel back and blush from. He seemed utterly oblivious.

Sansa now understood why Robb and Theon were suddenly  _ constantly  _ chasing after girls. They’d quickly abandoned her and Jon, no longer asking to go on adventures and get into mischief. They were certainly delving into their own mischief, ones that Sansa had the displeasure of walking in on, one time. Theon had been snogging a Hufflepuff girl against the halls outside the astronomy tower. 

Sansa had ran away quietly, her face aflame.

It was also another reason why Professor Baelish’s looks made her squirm, and not in a good way. Sometimes, he looked at her the way Theon and Robb would look at the girls on the lawn, their plaid skirts pulled up a bit too high on the waist. 

“He’s a fucking  _ creep,”  _ Jon had hissed after one class, a snarl on his face. 

Maybe he wasn’t as oblivious as she had thought.

“It’s fine,” Sansa said, not wanting to make a scene- she had to get an Outstanding in Defense Against the Dark Arts, else it would be her first non-perfect score  _ ever  _ for a course. 

She was smart, everyone told her that. She’d be an auror one day, just like her father.

And Professor Baelish’s nasty looks wouldn’t stop that, she assured herself.

“If he tries anything, I’m telling Robb and Theon.” Jon said firmly, making Sansa turn her nose up. 

She didn’t want it to become a problem,  _ especially  _ not one that trailed back to her father at the Ministry. He’d been working ridiculously long hours, a near constant schedule under Cersei Lannister. When he came home, he often looked exhausted and drained, and talked with her mother in hushed tones about things that Sansa couldn’t quite understand.

She didn’t want to add another stress on top of that.

Luckily, by the time the school year was ending, the decision had been made for her: Headmaster Lannister had walked into the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom that afternoon, right as Professor Baelish had put a hand on Sansa’s bare knee. She’d been asking a question about the homework, and he’d seemed more than happy to take a hands-on approach as he read off the question.

They finished out the year with Professor Varys, the herbology professor, filling in for Professor Baelish. Ex-Professor Baelish, the class soon learned.

To the best of her knowledge, the news never got back to her father. 

Sansa passed her classes with all Outstanding marks.

\--------------

Fourth year was when everything changed.

“I’m going to put my name in the goblet,” Jon said excitedly, his face reddened from the Quidditch practice. Arya, now a second-year student, was scrambling behind them, tugging her broom behind her.

“Yes!” Arya hollered right as Sansa said ,”No!”

The Triwizard Tournament was quickly approaching, and it had put Sansa on edge for weeks. She’d seen Jon eyeing the goblet at the center of the Great Hall, had seen him watch each person throw in their names, each person getting quickly rejected from the tournament. She  _ knew  _ that face of Jon’s, had seen it so many times. It was raw determination, and Sansa had never seen him not go through with something when he had  _ that  _ face.

“People get killed all the time during the tournament,” Sansa had thrown back, but Arya was quick to snap back at her.

“That’s part of the appeal!”

Her withering glare had quickly shut up the younger girl, at least for the moment.

“I just have a good feeling about it, Sans.” He’d said, giving her that familiar shy grin. Sansa had started seeing the girls in their classes fawn at him when he did that, all twirling hair and blushing cheeks. It had made her grit her teeth every time.

When the goblet accepted his name, Sansa had been disappointed.

It would’ve been so easy if it had just been rejected- but no, of course Jon Snow was a perfect candidate. The Gryffindor table had yelled and hollered, beating their fists on the table as Jon had grinned wildly.

Headmaster Lannister had frowned, his face an odd look of disappointment and anger that the mild-mannered man had never shown before, at least not in front of his student. That made her curious, but she knew better than to ask.

When Robb’s name was accepted, too,  _ that  _ was when she got angry.

“I swear to the gods,” Sansa had seethed to her friend Jeyne ,”If I have to attend a joint funeral, I will kill them  _ again.” _

__ The start of the Triwizard Tournament had also brought in two other wizarding schools, the french Beauxbatons Academy of Magic, and the bulgarian Durmstrang Institute. Beauxbatons had offered up a beautiful brown-haired woman, Talisa, that Robb had quickly fallen for, much to Margaery’s irritation.

Durmstrang had offered up a sandy-haired, handsome Harry Hardyng, and Sansa had been blushing from the moment she laid eyes on him.

“It is lovely to meet you,  _ Saansa,”  _ He’d said, his accent thick. He’d then bowed low, kissing the back of her hand, and she’d giggled.

“They’re disgusting,” Theon scoffed after he’d left, Jon agreeing with him. 

Sansa wondered if it was bad, to hope that her best friend and brother lost the Tournament. They certainly were not Harry Hardyng, that was for sure.

Jon’s training also brought her closer to Jeyne, one of her first female Gryffindor friends; after being surrounded by so many boys, and Arya, who acted like one, it was refreshing. Even more, Jeyne  _ encouraged  _ her crush on Harry, so unlike the moans of annoyance that the Durmstrang boy usually pulled from Robb, Theon, and Jon.

The first task proved to be the most interesting.

Or, rather, Jon’s response to the first task had been.

The secret was dragons- they’d somehow transported a fleet of dragons to Hogwarts, hiding them securely in the Forbidden Forest, which now had much more of a security system than three years ago, thanks to the Starks.

Jon had been on-edge the week leading up to the challenge, entirely more than he should have been. It was natural to be nervous- even the confident Robb was seen mulling about, his brow furrowed, but for Jon, the effect was much larger. 

He’d came to Sansa in a heavy sweat one night, his eyes looking crazed.

“I don’t know what it is,” He muttered, after she’d secured a mug of hot tea for him and a cold rag for his forehead. “I just feel- I feel  _ restless.” _

__ “You’re nervous, Jon.” Sansa reasoned, even though she knew that wasn’t completely it.

“I’m not. I mean-” He sighed. “Of course I am, a little bit. But this past week it’s suddenly been ramping up. I just feel…. trapped, honestly.”

It was the odd phrasing of words that had Sansa pondering far into the night, worried for her friend. He’d been just as distant in classes, staring out the window, often in the direction of the dark forest.

The first task had been dragons.

Jon had practically waltzed by the dragon to retrieve the egg, nearly under the watchful, dangerous nose of the Hungarian Horntail. The fiercest dragon of the bunch.

Sansa had held her breath the entire time, even after Jon had grabbed the golden egg. He’d raised it to the sky, expecting the audience to cheer, but they were completely baffled, whispers running rampant around them.

Jon was puzzled, because he hadn’t seen the previous wizards’ trials; they were full of angry dragons, near-death drops, and singed hairs. 

It was then that everything changed, and for good.

Jon was kicked from the tournament, much to the anger of the Gryffindor students. There was an uproar in the Great Hall that evening, one that even the other houses of Hogwarts began to take part in- but the ruling was clear. Headmaster Tyrion claimed that there was no interference allowed in the tournament, as was the ancient rulings, and that was that.

Sansa had never seen Jon so hurt, looking at the headmaster, and she’d even seen a sad look cross the headmaster’s face, as if he himself didn’t believe the ruling. Even Tormund Giantsbane, the groundskeeper and the one in charge of the aforementioned scaled beasts, had insisted that there was no foul play. But the ruling was made, and it seemed too late to ponder any other possibilities.

The tournament continued, though, and she found herself on Harry Hardyng’s arm at the Yule Ball. She’d worn her beautiful pink gown, one that brought out the rosy color of her lips. He’d stared at them all night long, but was ever the gentleman. 

_ This must be true love,  _ she thought as he spun her around.

She had talked Jeyne into attending the ball with Jon, even though she’d seen her friend making eyes at Theon. With the way Jon had been sulking and brooding, she thought it would be good for him. She even thought she saw a smile on his face a few times, however fleeting it may have been.

In the final round, a giant, intricate maze was created on the quidditch pitch. The final competitors ended up being Harry and Robb, much to Sansa’s nervousness. She’d kissed both on the cheek that morning, despite her brother’s disgust.

At some point in the maze, the two boys had disappeared.

There was a wild chattering about the quidditch stands, bunches of muffled whispers and terrified screams; Sansa watched Headmaster Lannister frantically talking to his fellow professors, his face alarmed.

Jon was sickly white beside her, shaking so hard that Sansa could feel it through their shared stand bench.

“Jon,” She hissed, grabbing his arm. It felt cold, far too cold to be normal. She heard Arya approaching from the other side, her voice yelling for the medwitch.

By the time the medwitch approached, the maze below them exploded with life.

She heard Robb’s screaming first. And then, a loud, hissing voice, seemingly from everywhere and nowhere.

_ Bring me the Targaryen heir. _

\----------------

Robb was unconscious for a near-week after the end of the tournament. Sansa and her family had crowded around his bedside at St Mungo’s the entire time, the Starks filtering in and out of their watch. When he finally awoke, their mother had cried tears of joy, kissing the top of his auburn head and their father smiled brightly.

Harry Hardyng was not as lucky as Robb.

Sansa had not known him for more than a month, but she still cried, sad for what could have been. They quickly took his body back to Durmstang, back to where he came from. It was then that the tournament was banned, this time for good.

But the even bigger matter at hand was that of Jon Snow.

Or, apparently, Jon Targaryen.

Ned Stark had kept him at Winterfell since that night, fielding the many questions of persistent, curious wizard journalists. Sansa herself had even been cornered by one while entering the hospital to bring coffee to her family; she’d never cursed a person down before, but it seemed that there was now a time for anything.

Her father had  _ known _ , which seemed to be the worst part.

The Targaryeans had kept the Minister for Magic seat for centuries, up until Aerys II met his untimely death. Its cause was still up in the air, but Sansa had heard the many rumors, the rumors about Cersei Lannister’s golden brother. She knew it was best not to talk about those things, though.

The Targaryeans was a dead family line- until Jon.

And that brought forth many, many issues.

\---------------

Fifth year was completely different.

Everyone wanted to talk to Jon, all students seemingly amazed by his sudden rise to fame. But Jon had become even more brooding and quiet over the summer, usually spending his days reading in solitude. He rarely even played quidditch with Arya, Robb, and Theon, even back at Winterfell.

_ It’s the Targaryean in him,  _ A snarky Joffrey had remarked in class one day, but Jon didn’t even have the will to argue with him. It scared Sansa, if she were being honest.

Fifth year also brought many new faces to the Stark mansion. And some not-so-new.

Her father’s study held a long, oak table with many chairs, one that he frequently held important, hushed meetings at. The meetings became longer and more frequent, and Sansa saw many new faces among the bunch, including Professor Varys, Groundskeeper Tormund, and a few of the aurors from the Ministry.

The Stark children tried desperately to listen in to the conversations, but their father had charmed the room, casting a spell of silence around the place. On the fifth night of continuous meetings, after the last  _ whip  _ of an apparating wizard sounded out, Robb finally approached their father.

“It’s to keep Jon safe.” Ned Stark had said, a completely honest statement, to their surprise. For once, things were not being sugar-coated, and Sansa was not sure whether to be grateful or unnerved by that fact.

“I want to be a part of it.” Robb said quickly. Theon piped up, his brow furrowed.

“Aye, me too.” For once, the boy was calm and stern, his voice serious. Even he seemed to understand the gravity of the situation.

“He’s my best friend. I want to be there, as well.” Sansa agreed.

“I’ll be there whether you let me or not.” Arya offered, shrugging her shoulders.

And that was how the four got involved in the Order of the Dragon.

\-------------------

The next meeting occurred halfway through Sansa’s fifth year, right before Christmas Break.

It was freezing outside, the ground covered in a thick blanket of snow, the sky above promising more. It seemed bleak, and it seemed to match the moods of those around her.

Jon was still seeking out solitude, seemingly elsewhere even while surrounded by the rest of the family. His mood had only worsened that winter when a new arrest was made, shaking the wizarding world.

Daenerys Targaryen was still sneering in the moving picture on the newspaper, half-opened on Ned Stark’s table. It seemed to follow Sansa as she walked by, the half-mad look in the woman’s eyes shaking her to the core.

It seemed that Jon was in fact not the last dragon- but he may very well be the last  _ sane  _ one. Although Sansa was not sure how long that would last, with his distant ways.

There was a knock at the front door, and Headmaster Lannister’s cheery face grinned up at her once she opened it. No matter the situation, the man seemed determined to grin in the face of destruction. Sansa took his coat, busying herself with being the perfect host as her mother cooked away in the kitchen.

Then, auror Brienne Tarth showed, her face grim as always. Not a strand of her blonde hair was out of place. Not far behind her was Tormund Giantsbane, who stared down Brienne as if she were his prey; he had an odd way about flirting, Sansa thought.

Then followed in a few various aurors, ones Sansa had not met yet, and eventually Professor Varys showed, and she took his muted yellow coat, as well. Sansa heard mumblings from the study, and she began to turn, expecting that the Order had been fully accounted for.

But there was a final  _ whip  _ of an apparition, and Sansa turned to meet the new guest.

She found herself staring into the chest of a huge, muscled man, and when she lifted her eyes higher, she was suddenly looking into the stormy grey eyes of Sandor Clegane.

He was nothing like the boy who’d threatened her during her first year, nothing like the spindly creature that had almost eaten her and Jon that day. He was grown, his face now carved and almost handsome, in a way, had it not been for the gruesome scars that were still present, same as ever. Familiar, almost, though they were now decorated with a sharp scar that trailed over his cheek, narrowly missing his eye.

A claw mark.

His voice was a deep, dangerous rumble when he finally spoke.

“Are you going to let me in, little bird?”


End file.
